“Get to the rear, sir,” the sergeant said, slamming her ramrod home. “We’ll hold—”
Marcus shook his head. Before he could reply, the first of the attackers scrambled up and over the barricade, musket held in one hand. Marcus sighted carefully and shot him in the chest as he stood up. He toppled backward without a cry, and two more men replaced him, clawing their way up the wagon and edging forward. They raised their weapons like spears, and for a moment Marcus thought there was something wrong with their eyes. They glowed red from the inside, like they’d been replaced with hot coals.
The sergeant finished loading, shouldered her weapon, and shot one of the men. The second one, dressed in Murnskai white instead of Vordanai blue, dropped off the wagon in front of her, and she slammed him in the face with the butt of her musket. Bone crunched, and he went down. But another three were already climbing, while musket-fire went on and on from the buildings all around them. How many can be left? How can they keep coming?
One of the rankers, a small, mousy girl with long brown hair, shot wildly and missed. The other, a brawny teen built more like the sergeant, managed to catch one of the next wave of climbers, his head disintegrating in a shower of bone. The three on the wagon jumped down, coordinating with the ease of men who’d fought together before, though one was Vordanai and two Murnskai. The sergeant gave ground, parrying the stroke of a bayonet, and the two rankers stepped up beside her. Marcus drew his sword and joined them as two more attackers came over.
For a few moments, he lost his awareness of the larger situation in the heat of thrust and parry. The attackers were good, quick and well trained, working together smoothly and apparently completely without fear. Marcus got the better of one of them, getting around his bayonet and breaking his arm with the pommel of his saber. His wounded opponent closed in, taking a deep cut to the side but fouling Marcus’ stance, and he was forced to jump sideways to avoid being skewered by another. In the clear for a moment, he saw the sergeant bury her bayonet in one man’s chest only to be struck from behind—the man whose jaw she’d broken had levered himself up and thrust his own weapon into the small of her back, heedless of his injury. She stiffened and stumbled forward, and two more attackers cut her down. The mousy girl was bleeding, her left arm hanging useless, and the other ranker was cornered. Her attacker tossed his weapon aside, grabbing her by both shoulders and pulling her close as if for a kiss.
Marcus charged, saber swinging. He chopped through one assailant, spun, and put his weight behind a swing that took the ranker’s attacker in the neck and nearly removed his head. He crumpled in a welter of blood, and Marcus spun back to the other ranker just in time to see the remaining enemy bat her weak parry aside and spear her in the gut with his bayonet. Shouting with rage, Marcus opened the man’s back with a downward slash, his dirty white Murnskai uniform turning crimson as it soaked up the gore. The mousy girl, hand pressed to her wound, slowly slid down the wall of the alley, leaving a smear of blood when she tried to prop herself up. He looked at him, and then behind him, and her mouth moved in a warning.
Marcus lurched sideways. Not far enough. A bayonet jabbed into his left shoulder, a hot spike of pain that left him breathless. He spun away, the weapon tearing free from the wound. His saber was already coming around, and he was expecting to see another man in dirty blue or white—
It was the ranker, the brawny teen, musket in hand. She’d just bayoneted him, and she was winding up for another try. Her eyes glowed bright enough to cast flickering shadows.
Marcus’ arm moved automatically. He sidestepped her thrust and rammed his saber home, blade going in just under her breastbone. She let her weapon drop and stumbled forward, hands grabbing at his arms. As her breath bubbled in her throat, she tried to pull herself up, raising her crimson eyes to stare into Marcus’. He felt paralyzed, one hand still on the saber embedded in her chest. The red light grew brighter, nearly filling the world.
Then the girl’s legs gave out, and the moment was broken. She collapsed, sliding off of Marcus’ sword, and flopped motionless in the dirt.
Saints and martyrs. For a moment all Marcus could see was red. What in the name of all the fucking saints was that? Why would she...?
The other ranker moaned. Marcus shook himself and went to her side. She was sitting up against the wall of the alley, breathing in quick, ragged gasps, one hand pressed over the hole in her gut, fingers already slick with blood. A glance told Marcus that she was finished, if not immediately from loss of blood then later, when the gut wound festered. But he crouched beside her anyway, shrugging out of his coat and laying it over her, gripping her free hand with his own. Her head turned toward him, eyes very wide, and he waited as her breath came slower and slower until she finally went still.
Behind him, from the direction of the river, there was a dull boom, much louder than a cannon-shot. Marcus didn’t need to hear the sounds of stone tumbling into water to know what that meant. Janus’ men had blown the bridge.
The battle of Satinvol was over.
13
Winter
In the three days since the lupine assault, Winter had heard a few more howls in the night, but they hadn’t seen any sign that the animals were still close. Three Haeta had died in the attack, but those who’d been wounded had all recovered, thanks to Abraham’s talents. The revelation that Alex, too, was a “blessed one” had most of the Haeta behaving uncertainly around their three southern allies, but no one seemed ready to suggest that they turn against the power that had saved them all.
Leti increasingly deferred to Winter, asking her advice whenever they came to a fork in the path or needed to choose where to camp. It made Winter uncomfortable—she had no right to be giving orders to the Haeta—but it made things easier, especially since the rest of the young women obeyed Leti without question. They held their course northwest as best the terrain would allow, crossing another ridgeline and beginning a long, slow descent. The forest here hadn’t suffered as badly from the abnormal weather, and some of the trees were still green. Hunting got better, with the occasional deer added to their diet of rabbits and squirrels, and the scouts occasionally brought back wild vegetables.
On the third day, they broke through a patch of tangled underbrush and found the river Bataria spreading out in front of them, wide and frothy brown. Meltwater from upstream had clearly swelled it beyond its usual banks, and they made an early camp in a clear meadow well above the river’s edge. Winter helped Alex and Abraham set up their tent, impressed as usual with the speed and efficiency of the Haeta’s camp skills.
She’d gotten to know a few of them, despite the language barrier. Most of the Haeta understood quite a bit of Murnskai, but didn’t speak it as well as Leti and Vess, and seemed embarrassed to try. When she found herself standing watch or walking beside them, though, she tried to coax them to speak a little, and she tried to at least learn their names. There was Gina, beanpole thin and sharp-eyed; Yath, with her red hair and clever fingers, always working on complicated knots and braids; placid Ulli, with her lazy eye. They couldn’t tell her much about themselves, but she got a vague sense just by watching them at night. She found herself envying the easy camaraderie, the feeling of shared skill and shared danger.
She wondered, sometimes, if she’d have felt less apart if she’d been born among them. No need to put on a disguise to go into the army here. And either the “Tyrant’s Disease”—the technical term, Cyte had taught her, for when women slept with other women—was very common among them, or their standards were just... different. It was a pleasant fantasy, which Winter acknowledged was certainly no more than that. No doubt they have their own set of problems. Every one of these girls is going to go home and marry some man her priest has picked out. She was uncomfortably reminded of Jane, sold to Ganhide like a sack of meat. I hope it’s not that bad.
There was guilt there, too. We didn’t call them here. But the Haeta had come because of the Vordanai invasion, along with ma
ny others. We didn’t bring the blizzards. We didn’t unleash the Beast. But it was possible none of it would have happened if Janus had stayed south of the Ytolin.
Since they’d set up camp earlier than usual, the scouts had had a chance to range farther afield for food. They’d come back with a deer, assorted smaller game, and clusters of wild onion and mushrooms. The Haeta set to work with a will, skinning and gutting, and Winter left them to it. The best I can manage is army soup. Instead, she stood by the river, staring pensively at the distant far bank and trying to think.
“Winter.” Leti sounded hesitant, as though she didn’t want to intrude.
“It’s all right,” Winter said, beckoning her over. “I’m just trying to figure out what we do next.” She shook her head at the brown, rushing water. “The river isn’t normally this wide, is it?”
“No. In fall it can sometimes be only a trickle. But even in spring I have never seen it so deep.”
“I don’t suppose you know of a convenient ford nearby.”
Leti shook her head. “We crossed at one on the way south, but that was many miles to the east of here.” East was the way they’d come, where the Beast might be following. “In any case, I doubt it is passable with the water so deep.”
“We certainly can’t swim it,” Winter said. “And I wouldn’t trust any boat we could build in that.”
Leti nodded silently. Winter watched her for a moment, then looked back to the water. They always look to me for answers.
“We’ll follow the bank and head west,” she said, trying to sound authoritative. “What we really need is a small ship and someone to sail it. That way we can drop you off on the north bank and get ourselves downriver. There must be towns and villages along here, and we can bargain with them.”
“They are spread thin this far east, but yes,” Leti said.
I hope we find something sooner rather than later. Every day the Beast grew stronger. More immediately, Winter would feel a lot better when she was able to put distance between her and the red-eyes behind them. Still, we’ve been lucky. We’d never have gotten this far without the Haeta.
“Winter,” Leti said again.
“Something wrong?”
“No.” The girl’s face scrunched up, and she took a deep breath.
Winter cocked her head. “What?”
“I thought...” Leti looked down. “Would you care to share my tent tonight?”
“Your...” That took a moment to sink in. “Oh.”
“I know you don’t share our ways,” Leti said quickly. “But I thought you might... like to try.”
Winter ran a hand through her hair—it was getting longer than she liked, out here in the wilderness—and stared at Leti. She was pretty, though Winter hadn’t thought about it much until now. Compact and athletic, with small breasts and lean muscles, dark hair pulled back in a short braid. Her eyes were wide and blue.
There’s no reason I shouldn’t. She and Cyte had never spelled out the parameters of their relationship, after all. And in all probability Winter would never see Cyte again—even if she made it back to Vordan, she still had to confront the Beast, and one way or another she doubted she was coming back from that. So what’s the harm?
Logical, she supposed. And yet she didn’t find herself tempted. It wasn’t that Leti was too young—there was only half a decade between them, after all—or that she didn’t find her attractive, in the abstract, but—
“I’m sorry,” Winter said. “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t.”
“To be with another woman is so terrible for you?” Leti’s eyes shone with tears.
“It’s not that. I’m...” Taken? Married? “Promised. To someone else.”
Leti frowned. “But...” She stopped, shook her head. “Southerners are strange people.”
“I agree,” Winter said. “I hope I haven’t offended you.”
“No.” Leti shrugged, though her expression betrayed her casual tone. “You have every right to refuse. And perhaps it is for the best.”
“Maybe.” Winter looked back up the slope, sniffing the air. She patted Leti on the shoulder. “Come on. I smell dinner.”
*
The evening was a pleasant one, with plenty of food for once and a merry fire. Some of the Haeta danced while others sang and clapped along. Some, Winter couldn’t help but notice, slipped off in pairs to their tents. Leti retired early, alone, and as the sun sank down into the water of the Bataria, the girls who were left at the fire began to drift away to their own pursuits. Abraham had long since gone to sleep, and Alex, sitting in the dirt beside Winter, was yawning.
“I wish we had a better map,” Winter said. The one they’d brought from the Mountain showed only the rivers and a few major cities. “We could be walking for weeks before we find civilization.”
“Probably not weeks,” Alex said. “The Murnskai army has regular garrison posts along these rivers for courier traffic, though I have no idea if they’re still manned.”
“If not, let’s hope they’ve left their boats behind,” Winter said. “Even a sturdy rowboat would be something. We could take the Haeta over the river in shifts.”
“Better than staying on this side,” Alex agreed. She yawned again. “Coming to bed?”
“Not quite yet,” Winter said. “I want to think for a while.”
“Suit yourself.” Alex dug her elbow into Winter’s ribs. “Abraham told me one of the Haeta propositioned him in very unambiguous terms. He asked for my help telling her that she’s, ah, barking up the wrong tree.”
“He’s not interested?”
“Abraham?” Alex raised her eyebrows. “I suppose there’s no reason you’d know. He has—had—a lover, who was taken away by the Church. A boy named Peter. Abraham talks about going to find him someday.”
“Ah,” Winter said. Is that the Tyrant’s Disease, too? She wondered if they ought to compare notes, but was certain she’d never be able to bring it up. “Well, the Haeta seem to respect that we have different ideas about that sort of thing. I don’t think you’ll have difficulty.”
“We’ll find out.” Alex clambered to her feet. “Good night, then.”
“I’ll be in soon.”
Alex wandered off, leaving Winter alone, staring into the slowly fading fire. It popped and crackled, and in the darkness beyond the camp the forest was alive with rustles and soft animal noises. Somewhere, an owl hooted. There were sentries out there, too, but the Haeta had a way of disappearing into the woods when they kept watch, quiet as any nighttime hunter.
“Southerner.”
Winter nearly jumped at the sound of the voice. She looked up to find Vess crouching beside her, hands held flat to the fire, warming herself on the last embers.
“Yes?” Winter said, feeling uncertain. Vess had been the only one who’d voiced a worry about the nature of Alex’s powers. On the other hand, since the ambush, she’d been a little warmer, if not actually friendly. Her face was set in a perpetual scowl, but it was less often aimed in Winter’s direction.
“Leti spoke with you this evening,” Vess said. “She invited you to spend the night with her.”
“She did,” Winter said carefully.
“I do not know you, Winter Ihernglass.” This time the scowl was very definitely directed at Winter. “My sister may be wet for you, but do not think you have earned my trust.”
“Your sister’s virtue is safe, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Vess snorted. “If she ever had such a thing, she discarded it ages ago, and happily. It is her heart that concerns me.”
“Her heart?”
“Leti is... a good person. Better than I am. She strives to see the best in others, and reflecting her, they become better in her presence. It is why she was chosen to lead us, and why she will lead the tribe one day.” Vess pressed her lips together. “But it makes her vulnerable, you understand? To betrayal. She looks up to you, and if you disappoint her it will hurt her badly
.”
Winter stared into the fire, suddenly uncomfortable. “I never asked her to.” I never asked any of them to.
“In the crisis, when she froze, you acted. That night, after she cried in my arms, she talked about you. She sees you as... who she would like to be.” Vess cocked her head. “You are not just a soldier, I think. You are a leader.”
“I am,” Winter admitted. “Or I was.”
“Then you understand.”
All too well. It was easy to put herself in Leti’s place, in command of an expedition that had turned into a disaster, with all the people who once might have joked with her instead looking at her with that terrible need. The hunger for someone who knew what to do, who would make things better. Bobby’s face—from back in Khandar, before war and pain had aged her—floated through Winter’s mind, bringing a stab of guilt. The way she looked at me...
There was a long silence. The fire popped, settling.
“I’m not sure what you want me to do,” Winter said. “If you want to try to convince her she’s wrong, you’re welcome to.”
“It’s too late for that now,” Vess said with a sigh. “You must live up to her expectations instead. Be the woman she wants you to be, Winter, or you will answer to me.”
“I’ll try.” I always try so hard. It felt like a hundred ghosts mocked her as she said the words. And behind them all, Jane. Not a ghost but something worse. The heart of a monster.
Vess’ eyes narrowed. “I believe you will.”
Winter wanted to ask what she meant, but Vess suddenly looked up. A moment later Winter heard it, too, the sound of running feet. One of the Haeta, an older girl named Qwor, burst into the light, spear in hand.
“Red-eyes,” she gasped out, and then more in her own language that Winter couldn’t follow. Vess shot up.
“What’s happening?” Winter said.
The Infernal Battalion Page 24
